Lifeline
by DeniseV
Summary: Nettie Wells and her niece bring their wagon into Four Corners. They have a special load. The Seven are in for a world of worry, and two of them for a world of hurt.


"Hey Casey! Mrs. Wells!" J.D. Dunne called as the old homesteader drove her team of horses and the wagon they carted right past him and the general mercantile where they would normally be heading with the work wagon. Nettie Wells' niece, and also J.D.'s girlfriend, hadn't even noticed him. The young lawman ran to catch up, realizing the urgency of the action and the worry on the faces of the two women. The sun was low in the winter sky, early evening taking over duties from the late afternoon. The glare from the bright orb made it hard for him to see what they were hauling, but they were definitely hauling something, something important. As he reached the back of the wagon, he jumped on board and called, "What's wrong?" Just as he completed the query he saw Buck Wilmington sitting back against a bunch of blankets, his leg wrapped in between two pieces of wood. And then he saw Ezra Standish lying flat on his back, pale and still.

"Buck!" Ezra called. It wasn't loud, but the stress in his voice – J.D. would even call it fear if he didn't know Ezra as well as he did – was clear … and completely out of character.

"J.D., stay where you are, for now," Buck warned softly though with concern to mirror Ezra's. The young easterner was now fully in the back of the wagon, close enough to confirm what he already knew: that his best friend had suffered a broken leg. He was relieved to see that the fracture was the only injury that the ladies' man seemed to have endured. And Ezra? J.D. could see his face now. He was in terrible pain, he trembled with it, and those seemingly insignificant movements added greatly to the gambler's misery. He didn't notice any blood on the fastidious man's clothes, though he couldn't know for sure as Ezra sported his green jacket and black pants. The thing J.D. Dunne knew for absolute sure was that something was terribly wrong with Ezra Standish.

"But Buck, I know you can't help him, with your leg and all, but … "

"J.D., you stay where you are. Leave Fancy Pants be," Nettie called. "We'll have him up to Mr. Jackson's soon enough."

Upon hearing the old woman, Ezra groaned loudly. Though he needed the help of the healer, the idea of another stay in the man's clinic was not on his list of pleasurable activities.

"What happened?" J.D. asked.

"I'm only tellin' it once, kid, and that'll be once Nathan gets Ez and me settled," Buck replied. Both men, and Casey, looked toward Ezra as the southerner whimpered, just barely loud enough to be heard. Buck, who was holding onto the card sharp's ankle, said, "Nate'll give ya somethin' for the pain. He'll get ya fixed up," the lean mustachioed gunman added as he squeezed the ankle gently. But even that faint change had Ezra hissing with pain. "Sorry, hoss." Ezra breathed through the awful pain and, despite his noticeable efforts to remain stoic in front of the women, was unable to stop an occasional moan or whimper as he did his best to deal with whatever had happened to him.

"What can I do?" J.D. asked as Nettie halted the team at the staircase that lead to Nathan Jackson's clinic.

"Go find Chris. Better get Josiah, too," Buck ordered.

"'siah ain't here. He left for the reservation about an hour ago."

"Hell. Sorry, ladies," Buck added quickly. "Well, get Chris. We're gonna need more help. Vin's out on patrol, right?"

"Yeah."

"All right. See who you can find." Ezra's trembling had become worrisome. Buck couldn't tell if it was the continued pain or that shock condition that Nathan talked about and said they should always try to avoid. "Make it quick."

"All right. Be back as fast as I can," J.D. said as he eased out of the wagon, making sure to rock it as little as possible. His eyes met Casey's. They shared a troubled glance, but only a glance, knowing the urgency of what needed to be done. Ezra cried out, much louder than any of them expected. The former con man hated for his injuries or illnesses to be public knowledge, and routinely did all he could to hide his hurts. J.D.'s heart ached at how terrible the pain must be for his friend not to use his considerable skills learned from his mother and from years at the poker table to mask how he was feeling.

"Casey, get on up there and tell Mr. Jackson what's goin' on. We'll let Buck and Mr. Standish rest up," Nettie said to her niece.

"I'm all right," Buck said.

"Don't you think of movin', young man," Nettie ordered. "We'll need help gettin' ya out and up."

"Ah cannot … " Ezra began. Casey stopped to listen, but a shake of the head from her aunt had her moving up the stairs quickly. The old rancher turned to look at the ailing gambler.

"I know what you're thinkin', but Mr. Jackson will give you something to ease the pain before he moves you," she said to him.

"Ah cannot fathom … what this miracle … concoction … will taste like … or how it could … conceivably perform … to such a necessary … high standard … as you describe … mah dear lady."

"Now there ain't no way all that talkin' isn't hurting you, so why don't you just hush up. I know you're feelin' poorly, but we're all here to make sure you're gonna be all right." Nettie knew Ezra couldn't see her from his current prone position, and she wasn't going to move to add the shaking of the wagon to cause him further injury. She would prefer to be saying this to him face-to-face so that he could see her determination to make what she spoke of actually happen. She made eye contact with Buck, though, the entire time she spoke. They were both worried about just how much the professional poker player would recover from this injury. They had never seen Ezra in such agony, and Buck had witnessed the gambler endure quite a lot since they'd first joined forces to protect Four Corners a few years before. Buck finally lowered his head, his own guilt in causing Ezra's injury running a close race with his worry for his friend's chances at fully recuperating from the trauma. But he recovered enough, upon feeling the steely-eyed stare of the elderly rancher, to participate in the attempt to soothe the southerner's fear.

"Yeah, Ez. You know Nate. He'll give ya a hard time for gettin' hurt, but he'll get ya feelin' better in no time."

"Mistah Wilmin'ton," Ezra started, but was interrupted by heavy footfall echoing down the staircase.

"Buck, you feelin' all right for now?" Nathan asked as he stepped into the wagon and went directly to the more worrisome patient. It said an awful lot to them all that a broken leg took second place in that competition.

"Yeah. Check on Ezra," Buck practically pleaded.

"Ezra, can you tell me what happened?" Nathan asked as he made a motion to reach for his patient.

"Wait," the con man said, at the same time as Buck.

"What?" the healer asked.

"He's in awful pain. It's his back."

"What happened?" Chris Larabee asked as he stepped close to the wagon and beheld at his two friends; neither one appeared to be in very good shape.

"Hey old pard, glad you're here." Buck could see J.D. standing with Tiny just beyond. "I'll start the tellin' in a minute, Chris. Nate, you're gonna have to drug him up. He can't stand to be touched. Movin' 'im's gonna kill 'im," Buck explained. He could feel the sun getting lower; they were going to run out of light and any hint of warmth with the setting sun pretty darn quick.

"It ain't likely to do that," Nathan replied. The healer looked at this man, his fellow southerner with whom he'd had such an unfortunate rocky start but who he now considered a good friend. He could see after a closer look the effort Ezra was making to withstand the hurt in silence. It was times like this when he could just damn Maude Standish to hell for the junk that she'd forced into the man's head. Nathan had learned first-hand how easy it was to fall under the woman's spell. Years of exposure to Maude and her machinations had left Ezra with some hard lessons that he and Ezra's other friends had been determined to have him re-learn the right way. From just about every measure, they had been successful so far.

"You want me to go up and start brewin' some tea?" J.D. asked.

Nathan thought briefly as he continued his visual examination, at a distance. "Just … no. Go and grab some laudanum," Nathan requested of the hovering sheriff.

"No," Ezra said. His eyes were closed, he looked like hell, but Nathan could tell the injured man was, despite everything he was going through just then, ready for a fight.

"You need it, Ez. There's gonna be a lot of jostlin'. The boys'll be gentle as they can, but you need something to help bear it," Buck encouraged.

"Whiskey."

"No," Nathan replied firmly. "Chris," he said to the leader of the Magnificent Seven, "stay here. Watch him." The former slave looked the injured man over, as much as he could without touching him, and added, "I've got a neck brace. And that door that we use sometimes? We'll need that. I keep it down … "

"I will get the door," Tiny offered. They had used the door as a stretcher before, when Nathan thought a back or neck injury needed more support than their regular Army-issue stretcher would provide.

"Thanks," Buck said to Tiny. Nathan removed his large frame as gently as possible from the wagon and then went upstairs for the neck brace. And though his main job was taking care of business at the livery, the seven men who protected the town had called upon the big man ironically named Tiny for many other purposes during the three years that they had called Four Corners home. It had become a terrible routine for Tiny to help one of these men up to the former slave's clinic, a terrible routine that Tiny would volunteer for any day in thanks for what these seven men had done for his town.

With both Nathan and Tiny gone, Chris chose not to force Buck to explain what had happened. His old friend's hand on Ezra's ankle was proof that now was not the time. Ezra needed that touch, and he needed that touch to be soothing and not tense up with the telling of the story of what had transpired to cause these injuries. The former gunslinger could tell from Buck's demeanor that he felt responsible for the state Ezra was in. Chris looked up into the sky, silently preparing himself; he decided to push the gambler once more on the laudanum, though he knew how this discussion would end.

"Ezra, this is serious. Nathan's as worried as I've ever seen him. Buck and Nettie … " he looked up to see J.D. and Casey standing close together, arm-in-arm, "all of us want you to stop hurtin'. Nathan doesn't want to hurt you more when he moves … "

"No, suh," Ezra came back, his voice firm. He gasped though, as his body tensed at the thought of the opiate-laden pain medicine.

"Come on, now, Ezra," Buck said, anger evident in his tone and in the fact that the compassionate man hardly ever called him 'Ezra' anymore; it was as though Buck had only ever known the man as 'Ez'. Their relationship … their friendship was far different, less formal, despite the southern gentleman's insistence on the more formal address of his brethren, most notably when people of the town were around. It wasn't necessary, but the rest of the Seven reckoned that it was one way Ezra could remind the town folk of the positions of respect they had all earned in their jobs as lawmen. Somehow, it seemed, it was easy for people to forget all the good that they had brought to this dusty frontier town, when they occasionally only saw a gunman or a 'kid' or a man still wanted for murder, a lothario or a slave pretending to be a doctor, a fallen priest. A 'no account' gambler.

"Wh … What time izzit?" Ezra asked.

"'Bout five, maybe later," Chris replied. "Why?"

"It would … not be the … first time … that Ah had been … drunk at … this time … of day." Ezra managed to capture Chris' eyes with his own. The former con man rarely used the skills that his mother had taught him, and that he had learned so well, on his fellow peacekeepers, but he had to get through to Chris. His pain was excruciating; he knew he needed something. The miserable tea would take too long to take effect, what little effect it would have. The laudanum was out of the question, and Ezra knew Nathan knew that. When he was feeling better … he prayed to an almighty that he wasn't sure he believed in that he would feel better at some point, as he would not be able to live permanently with this kind of pain, he'd have to have another discussion with the healer about that sore subject.

"Please, Chris," Ezra said, wishing that Vin was with them at this moment. The tracker understood Ezra's aversion to the opium-based drug; he would also have pointed out to Chris the unusual use by Ezra of the tall blond's first name. Ezra was more likely to use the first names of his partners in law enforcement these days, in casual, private conversation, except for Chris. He had the utmost respect for Chris Larabee, in spite of their past differences, which were many and oft-times severe, and the default form of address for Ezra for the former gunslinger and now leader of their group was the formal. It was only dire situations, or very personal ones, when Ezra would use Chris' given name.

"Ah, hell," Chris answered. Buck snorted, unable to hold back as he watched his old friend be manipulated by the master. "All right, Ezra. But you need to be straight with Nathan. He ain't gonna let you take that much whiskey if you've hurt your head."

"He didn't, Chris," Buck verified. "What happened was my fault." At the admission, Ezra attempted to get Buck in his eyesight. The slight movement redirected Ezra's planned retort; all that came out was a moan of intense pain, and a strangled effort to hide it.

"Damn it, Buck," Chris said. He reached out to comfort the gambler, but a horrified look from his southern friend had him stop short. The tall gunman looked up the stairs, anxious for the healer to return. He wanted the go-ahead to get some liquor into the con man to start easing his pain. And as though the glare from Chris on this side of the door was enough, Nathan burst through with the neck brace in one hand, and a familiar small brown vial in the other.

"We ain't gonna do that, Nate. Put it in your pocket," Chris ordered. He saw the surprised looks from Nettie and Casey, and the sad smile of agreement from J.D. "Nettie, I know it's your shopping day. Why don't you and Casey head over to Gloria's? We'll bring the wagon over once we get the boys out, and then help you load up your supplies."

"We'll do that, Mr. Larabee, but we ain't headin' home until we know how Mr. Standish is doing."

"All right," Chris agreed.

"Now listen here," Nathan countered, waiting for the ladies to leave before he did. But Chris Larabee had Vin Tanner talking to him in his head, as well as a private conversation that he and Ezra had shared many months ago about the drug that Nathan now wished to administer.

It wasn't going to happen.

"I'm heading over to the saloon to get a decent bottle of whiskey," Chris announced. Nathan looked defiant, so Chris continued. "He don't want it and we ain't gonna make him take it."

"We gotta get him upstairs. Now," Nathan challenged.

"I'll be back by the time Tiny gets back," Chris said as he used his long legs to their fullest and made it down the avenue to the saloon faster than anyone had seen him move in a long, long time.

Nathan looked disgustedly after Chris, and then turned to Buck and said, "Sometimes I don't know why I bother."

Buck, his hand still gently resting upon Ezra's ankle, replied, "It ain't nothin' against you, Nate. You know that." He pressed his hand more firmly, wanting to do something to comfort his friend as they all waited for the real relief that Ezra so desperately needed.

J.D. had been standing back, watching … too scared to get too close, not wanting to even touch the wagon again for fear of doing anything that might hurt Ezra even more. He wondered how many times his gambler friend would endure more injury before he decided that remaining in Four Corners wasn't necessarily good for his health. J.D. dreaded thinking of that day, at the same time not being able to think of much else as he watched the man suffer.

Nathan, now looking back at Ezra, wanting to get started on an examination that was already long overdue in his eyes, but knowing from this unusual behavior from the gambler that he needed something to dull the pain, said, "Feels like you don't trust me to do what's best."

At the same time that J.D. said, "That ain't it," Ezra said softly, "You could not … be more wrong." Buck shook his head as Nathan continued to fume, despite the reassuring rebuttals from his friends. An uncomfortable silence replaced the uncomfortable conversation. The omnipresent sound now was Ezra's strained attempts to breathe through his discomfort as they waited for Chris and Tiny to return.

The big man who took such good care of their horses was the first to come back. J.D. jumped from his spot leaning against the deck post to help the burly man get the door in place. Chris followed moments later with a bottle. The bottle resembled one of the gambler's favorite drinks, a bourbon from Kentucky, but that was not what the vessel contained. A distressed Inez Rocillos, upon hearing of Ezra's injury, found a recently emptied bourbon bottle and placed three sizable shots of a French cognac in it. She had said to Chris that the man who lived above the saloon, and who until recently had been linked romantically with the pretty barkeep, always joked that he could wrestle a quarter from the sharpest-toothed card sharp after one shot of the Gallic elixir, could romance a woman better than any man – even the renowned Buck Wilmington – after two shots, and had best have his feather bed, and 'pillah', nearby after a third. Chris rushed from the drinking establishment with the distinctly-shaped bottle, leaving the heartsick Mexican beauty behind.

"Let's get this in him," Nathan said, anxious to get things moving. He reached his hand to the wagon in order to haul himself up, but Chris grabbed his arm tight and stopped him.

"Take it easy, Nathan."

"I know what I'm doing," the healer replied harshly.

Softly, so that only Nathan could hear, Chris asked, "So you think climbin' up on the wagon like you were gonna isn't gonna hurt Ezra?" Nathan clearly jolted at Chris' words, knowing that he'd let the situation get to him, realizing that, in his anger, he'd forgotten that most important part of the Hippocratic oath, an oath that he could not take, officially, but tried to abide by a line in it that had moved him when he first read it. He thought of it often as he worked as a healer: "I will prescribe regimens for the good of my patients according to my ability and my judgment and never do harm to anyone." His eyes grew wide and sad. The former stretcher-bearer in the war lowered his head, and shook it a couple of times.

"Damn."

"Let me help you up, nice and easy," Chris suggested. Nathan made it up, walked gingerly across the weathered boards, and sunk onto his knees before his injured friends.

"You still all right, Buck?" he asked the dark-haired gunman.

"Yeah, I'm fine." They smiled at each other, knowing that the answer was far from the truth.

"Let me know when you're ready," Chris said as he stood beside the wagon, near the con man's head and where Nathan knelt. The former gunslinger had the bottle in one hand, the shot glass in the other. He looked across the wagon at his old friend. Buck was pale, a little sweaty … and kept that hand on Ezra's ankle, a lifeline if ever there was one.

"Ezra, you ready for a swig?" Nathan asked. The gambler jumped involuntarily and groaned from the pain the sudden movement caused. "Sorry, Ez. I thought you were still with us."

"Ah am, Mistah Jackson. Ah hadn't … felt you … board … Missus Wells' … wagon." Nathan looked over to Chris, his mortification obvious, especially after watching Ezra hurt further from simple surprise at being spoken to.

"You ready for a shot?"

Ezra frowned. He wanted to look around, but knew he was very near his limit for pain, and did not wish to pass out in front of his friends, or anyone else. That Nathan was offering him whiskey rather than laudanum indicated that the former bounty hunter was about.

"Is Mistah Tanner back?"

"No. You can thank Chris this time, and Buck," Nathan said. He might have been reminded earlier about harming his patient, but his disgust at what he perceived to be a lack of trust from his friends came through loud and clear. He knew his emotions were all over the place, but his worry for Ezra and whether he had the skills to help him had to remain at the forefront from here on out. He couldn't afford the distraction, and neither could the seriously injured man before him.

"Thank you, gentlemen." Ezra caught Nathan's eyes. "All of you," he added before closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. The former slave looked over to Chris and nodded, his eyes angry, his mouth shut tight, his jaw flexing as he made a concerted effort to hold in his anger. The leader of the Seven ignored the look, poured the shot and handed it to the healer.

"I'm gonna have to lift your head, Ezra."

"Nathan," Ezra said, his green eyes bright as he attempted to hold back the tears, his expression one of embarrassment. "Ah beg of … you not … to do that. Despite the … uncouth nature … of the action … it might be … bettah … if Ah drink … straight from … the bottle."

The healer nodded, as did Chris and Buck. They all should have thought of that. Leave it to the man who should hardly be able to think with all the pain he was in to recognize it. Chris took the glass, poured the contents back into the bottle, and handed the container to Nathan.

"We'll do this nice and slow," Nathan said to his patient.

"Yes," Ezra agreed.

After a couple of stops and starts, including some of the cognac dribbling out the side of his mouth and then down his neck, and more than one comment from the far-too-observant man that he was sure he was imbibing the very expensive ambrosia that he'd imported from France, the injured man talked himself to sleep.

"That worked faster than expected. Ezra can usually hold his own against, well, even you," Buck said to Chris.

"That's 'cause it was his French cognac. Inez said the third shot would be the charm. She was right," Chris replied as he looked worriedly at the man now passed out in the wagon. But the look was mixed with a warmth that those outside his closest acquaintance would have been surprised to witness.

"Wonder how she found that out," Buck commented with amusement.

"Not how you wish, I'd bet," Chris answered with a grin.

Nathan began his examination, though the heavy cloud cover and the mid-winter's early dusk would soon make working outside impossible as the evening grew chilly and dark.

"Buck, you wanna tell us what happened?" Chris asked.

"You remember that time Ezra held up that post in the cave? Makin' like Hercules?"

"Yeah," Chris said, remembering the trauma the gambler had suffered in the cave, and then the further strain he'd caused his body when he'd saved Vin's life.

"Well, I was up in that pretty, old aspen tree at the bend, comin' back from Nettie's. We were goofin' … well, I was goofin' around, showin' Ezra some of my best get-away moves. You remember," the ladies' man said, directing his comments more toward his old friend, "actin' like an acrobat, like with Clarissa Anne back in Tulsa, or when I had to skedaddle fast down four flights in St. Louis when Mildred … "

"Buck!" Chris said, the firm quiet of the blond's tone stopping the town Lothario's musings pretty quick. It wasn't like Chris was not amused, normally, and didn't recognize his friend's charms – or marvel at how Buck could remember all their names with sincere affection – but there was a time and a place for everything.

Buck recognized he'd gotten off track. "Sorry. Anyway, after a while, Ezra reminded me that we needed to get goin', so I did one o' them backflips from Tulsa off the low, thick limb, but that damn branch followed me down and landed hard on my leg."

"Buck, that branch is more like a tree all by itself," J.D. noted. None of them had ever seen an aspen at their lower high desert altitude quite so big.

"I know, kid. And my leg knows, too. It's a heavy son-of-a-gun, and Ezra jumped down from where he'd been waitin' on Chaucer and lifted it." Buck stopped telling the story, looked at Ezra, and then with sad eyes and a guilty face admitted, "I couldn't move fast enough. I was in a lot of pain, I ain't never felt anything quite like it." He realized that he didn't know what pain was as he watched Ezra these last couple of hours; at least his broken bone had been set right by the knowledgeable and surprisingly strong Nettie Wells. "I know Ez was urging me to move; I don't know how long he had to hold up all that weight." He looked to Nathan. "I think he popped somethin', Nate. I heard something; least I think I did. Then, ya know, like before, he seemed kind of stuck. And unlike last time, there weren't anyone there to force him into droppin' it. He was gettin' spasms by then, but Chris, I was in my own hell at the time."

Chris could see that Buck was racked with guilt. It was a dumb accident, that's all. And they had all learned that though Ezra might have been a master con artist in his past, and that sometimes he came across as unfeeling when it came to his single-minded efforts to win at the poker table, he was indeed a thoughtful and kind person. Maude Standish's hard work trying to make him into something he wasn't had resulted, in the end, in abject failure. They knew Ezra would insist Buck forget about any culpability in what happened. At least, he would certainly be generous and forgiving so long as he healed up properly. The alternative to full recovery was an option that it was far too soon for any of them to think about.

"Did you see him throw himself away from the branch?" Nathan asked. "Looks like he's got a pretty bad bruise startin' on his left leg, and it's all cut up."

"He did twist away from it when he finally let it go. I didn't see him get hit, though. Damn," Buck offered softly.

"All right," Nathan said. "He's out. Let's get 'im on that door and upstairs. Buck, it's gonna take us a while … "

"I can wait. Take care o' Ez."

"J.D., stay here," Chris ordered.

"I don't need no babysitter," Buck announced angrily.

Chris stared at his long-time friend, but his next words were meant for the young sheriff. "J.D., stay with Buck."

"All right, Chris."

Nathan, Chris, Tiny and J.D. worked slowly, carefully moving Ezra down from the wagon. The healer had placed the collar on the gamester; there was enough swelling that Nathan couldn't chance moving Ezra without the thick cushioning.

"Chris, you ready?" Nathan knew that their leader would choose the lead position. The tall man's worry for their resident professional poker player was obvious. Though most people looking at the three men handling the wooden stretcher would choose Tiny or Nathan as the strongest, they would have made the wrong choice, especially when the welfare of one of the former gunslinger's men was at stake.

"Let's move. It's gettin' cold out here."

"All right," Nathan agreed. "I've got this end. Tiny, you just keep us steady, heading straight."

"I'll keep an eye on it all, just like always, Mr. Jackson."

A half an hour passed before they had Ezra and Buck upstairs. They placed the southerner in the bed, Buck on a small mattress on the floor. Tiny left for the evening, and Chris sent J.D. to bed for a couple of hours; he would need to take over for Vin when he returned around eight that evening.

"What're ya finding?" Buck asked from the floor. Nathan had been examining Ezra now for another thirty minutes. Buck's worry had only grown as his black partner in law enforcement worked in virtual silence examining his other friend.

"I can feel swelling starting at about the fourth thoracic vertebra to around the sixth. He's got what might be a pulled muscle a little south of the lumbar curve. It's real warm to the touch. Won't know too much until the swelling goes down." Chris had been helping the healer move the passed out gambler as he needed to examine different parts of the man's body for injury.

"I don't know about thor-whatever and lumbar-whose-it," Buck said. "None of it sounds very good."

"Sorry. Thoracic is like the center section of the spine. That's where he's got the worst swelling. Somethin' might've slipped there, that sound you think you mighta heard. Lumbar is way down. It's all part of the spine, or maybe you know it better as backbone." Nathan stood back and looked at Ezra as he remained deeply out. "His pain is going to be hard to manage. Can't keep lettin' him get himself drunk."

"You've made that tea extra strong before," Chris reminded the healer.

"I know. We'll see if it's strong enough."

"I've never seen him in such pain," Buck said.

"Me either," Chris agreed. "His first instinct is to cover it up when he's hurtin'. This must be killin' him for him to show it so much," the tall blond added as he watched Ezra offer a faint grimace, even in his drunken, passed out state.

"Well, he's out for now. Let's get Buck's leg looked at, and some laudanum into him, and then I'll clean up that gash on Ezra's leg."

They worked quietly and quickly. Both patients were asleep within the quarter hour.

"I know you want to be here when Ezra wakes up. I'll go get us something to eat," Chris said as he stood, stretching his tall frame. "I'll arrange for more water to be sent up." Buck and Ezra had been brought in at around five-thirty; neither Chris nor Nathan had eaten since a later-than-normal breakfast, after Chris placed three drunks in the jail and Nathan finished tending to their injuries. As the lean blond walked down the steps from Nathan's clinic, he was met by Vin Tanner.

"How are they?" he asked. "J.D. told me what happened."

"Aren't you back early?" Chris asked.

"A little. Kid's startin' early."

"He should probably get a couple hours … "

"He's fine. What happened to them," Vin said, nodding his head up to the second floor, "it's got 'im wide awake."

"All right. Come with me to get some food," Chris said. "You should eat, then get some sleep. Josiah won't be back until the day after tomorrow. Buck's leg is broke. Nate says it's not a bad break, but he'll be off a horse for almost two months.

Vin couldn't help but smirk. "I'm shur that's gonna break his heart." Chris smiled and nodded in agreement. More seriously, the tracker said, "Sounds pretty bad. Two months. And Ezra?"

They walked across to the saloon while Chris explained. "Nathan thinks he may have slipped a disc in one area of his back and pulled a muscle down lower. The tree caught him on the leg; he's got a deep, two inch cut and it's gonna be all black bruising soon enough."

"Hell," Vin responded. "Anything else?"

"That about covers it," Chris said. "Nathan says he'll probably be in pain even with the teas made stronger." Vin stared Chris down until his friend admitted, "Yeah, I took Ezra's side on the laudanum. We gave him three shots of some fancy French cognac … put him out cold. Nate's already said he won't allow it again."

"Good to know how to knock him out," Vin said with a sad smile.

They arrived at the saloon, gave Inez an update, asked her to have water sent up to the clinic, and then placed their orders. They had a drink while they waited.

"It's just you, me and J.D. for the next thirty-six hours?" Vin asked.

"I'll get Robert Merton to help us out," Chris said, knowing that the rancher would be in town until the end of February when he would head south to bring a herd of his cattle up for spring grazing. "We'll be fine."

"I know it," Vin agreed. "How'd it happen?"

Several townspeople stopped by to ask after Ezra and Buck; word of the accident had spread fast, at least that two of the Seven were injured. Though most of those asking were concerned primarily about the welfare of the two injured men, some people were obviously only concerned with the town's safety, knowing that Josiah was not in town, leaving the village with only four of its seven lawmen healthy and able to protect them. Nathan had already cut his law enforcement hours way back with all of the doctoring the bursting-at-the-seams town needed of him these days.

"Gonna have to have a talk with J.D.," Chris said.

"Reckon," Vin agreed, followed by, "How'd it happen?"

Chris went through Buck's explanation. "Don't know if Buck'll ever grow up."

"Probably not," Vin commented. He added, "Seems kind of odd that tree wouldn't be able to take a little rough handlin'. It's been around for a long time. Damn healthy tree."

"Yeah, well … " Chris began, but was interrupted by the barkeep.

"Señors," Inez said as she brought two trays out. To Vin she said, "The extra key to Señor Standish's room is beside the coffee cup."

Vin looked from Inez to Chris. "I don't … "

"Go ahead. You'll get a good night's sleep, which you're gonna appreciate these next few days," Chris suggested.

"He would want you to use it, Vin," Inez said. "It is to be a cold night."

"Fine," Vin said to them both, embarrassed that he had people thinking that he couldn't sleep just fine in his wagon, but far too smart not to take advantage of the offer. And Inez was right: if Ezra found out that he had been offered the room on a night like tonight and didn't use it, he'd suffer the wrath of the southerner, in the form of non-stop scolding, for weeks. He grinned sadly, hoping that he'd have that kind of suffering to look forward to. He looked to Chris for assurance. "You'll come get me if there's any trouble, if Ez, you know … "

"I will," Chris promised his friend.

* * *

"Don't."

Nathan sighed. "I know you're hurtin', Ezra, but we got to get you moving so I can see exactly what damage you got."

"Mistah Jackson, Ah can assure you that Ah am not yet prepared for such ambitious an undertaking," the gambler returned.

"Ezra, the swelling has gone down. You been showin' feelin' everywhere I touch you … "

"Of that Ah need no reminder," Ezra replied grumpily, but his blood was boiling at Nathan's assumption that he should be moving about so soon.

The healer was growing increasingly annoyed with his patient. In the two days since Nettie brought Buck and Ezra in, the ladies' man had been moved to his own room, with instructions to stay away from his crutches for the next few days; he appeared satisfied with the forced, relative inactivity. The former con man, however, had remained in terrible pain. But forty-eight hours had passed since the incident and the former slave and stretcher bearer had noted much improvement, in reduced swelling, minor movement, and his own relief that Ezra was even feeling his extremities at all. He'd had no luck in convincing Ezra of that fact, though. Nathan sensed that Ezra was blind to his improving state by the near-blinding pain he still felt. He knew his friend was afraid, and no one could blame him. From what the healer could see, it was likely that the southerner would suffer some back pain for the rest of his life. It was the slipped disc that would cause this. Ezra had a choice: go to St. Louis or some other large city for corrective back surgery, or hope that the condition resolved itself enough that he could live a normal life. But until Ezra started to move and Nathan could make an evaluation, there was no way to know for sure whether his injury justified the extreme invasiveness of surgery. Nathan doubted that the gambler would appreciate the odds of success with that option, anyway.

"I know you're scared … " Nathan started.

"Ah am not. That is a heinous accusation." Ezra was angry. It had only been a couple of days, and his pain level was still beyond acceptable. "Ah am simply … not ready. Ah cannot fathom how moving about just yet would result in anything but further injury or, frankly, passing out from the pain."

"So you are scared," Vin said as he made his way further into the room. The healer and the patient had not heard the door open during their heated back and forth. Ezra was taken aback, to say the least.

"Mistah Tanner … "

"No, Ez. I know what it feels like to have a sore back."

"This is not simply a sore back, Vin," Ezra contradicted. No, this was much worse than what he'd experienced when he'd suffered badly bruised kidneys, and Nathan always forced him to stay abed for those injuries. Why did no one understand that he was not healed enough for this?

"I know. But Nathan's right. You gotta get up so he can ev … evaluate your problem more."

"Ah realize you gentlemen … "

"Come on, Ez. Nathan and me, we'll hold ya. We won't let ya fall," Vin said with genuine concern. It was the earnestness that Ezra couldn't refuse, but he felt certain that this decision was not going to turn out well for him.

"Fine. But ah trust you will at least set me down gently once Ah have fainted from the extreme pain you will have inflicted upon mah person." Neither man answered as they quickly positioned themselves on either side of the gambler, not wanting to give Ezra time to change his mind.

"Let Vin and me do all the work. You just try to keep your feet."

"Mmmm," was all Ezra could say as they eased him first to a sitting position, followed by a pained, "Good lord." Vin kept his hand on Ezra's upper back, away from where Nathan said the disc problem was, and leaned down in front of him.

"You all right?"

"No," Ezra eked out. He added, "It is not, howevah … not more … painful than lying in this bed."

"See that?" Vin asked. "Got yerself all in a dither over nothin'." Ezra eased his head slowly to the right and gave the Texan a glare to rival that of the infamous Chris Larabee. "Sorry," Vin mumbled as he held on to his friend.

Nathan could feel the gambler tremble. "That hurtin'?" he asked.

"Yes," Ezra gasped. Nathan and Vin looked at each other over their friend's head. They knew that the man uttering only the one simple word meant it had to be paining Ezra greatly. But they were both sure of the need to get him moving; they had both seen more than once how letting someone rest too long could make a person into a cripple. Neither one wanted that for Ezra; they knew that there would be little chance that they could keep Ezra Standish with them if that ever happened.

"I need ya to walk over to the chair and back," Nathan encouraged. "That's all," he added, the feeling that this wasn't really the right thing to do niggling at the back of his thoughts. He knew this man well after three years of working, fighting and drinking with him. And treating his wounds. If Ezra could get up and walk, if he truly felt that he could, he would have walked out of the clinic and over to this feather bed by now.

"Very … well," Ezra panted, and he immediately took the first step.

"Slow down, Ezra," the healer ordered. The gambler tried to remain quiet, stoic in absorbing the ache that seemed to permeate every bone and muscle in his body, but a pained grunt issue forth nonetheless. And that ache was working its way close to the agonizing pain of two days before.

"Would not … goin' slow … extend mah … misery?" Ezra asked as he continued at what he considered a snail's pace, though he in reality had to concede the point that he really did not have it in him to move any faster. How on Earth could Nathan think they were moving fast?

"Don't want you hurtin' more than … " Nathan started in reply. He didn't finish the thought as the clinic door burst open. Neither Vin nor Nathan could react as they might normally as they shared nearly the complete weight of their healing brother-in-arms. A gun was pointed at Ezra as the intruder spoke.

"You. Over here."

"He ain't goin' with you. He ain't goin' nowhere," Nathan replied, defiant despite the fact that the gun was now pointed at him.

"You're comin' with me," the man said, looking at Ezra but keeping his weapon leveled at the black man.

"No he ain't," said a familiar voice at the doorway. "Drop your weapon," Chris said menacingly.

"I can't. My brother … "

"Is in custody. Neither one of ya knows how to ask about for somebody," Chris explained.

"Damn it," the man said as he lowered the gun to his side.

"Drop it," Chris ordered once more. The man stood with the gun pointing down. "I won't ask again." The man knew his next action could likely determine whether he lived out the day. He dropped the gun. "Get down on your knees," Chris said as he walked into the room. He kicked the gun toward Nathan's work area for temporary safe keeping.

"Is Jed all right?"

"What's your name?" Chris demanded.

"Aaron Meecham."

"Your brother is Jed Meecham?" The last name was familiar to the former gunslinger. He saw the nod from Vin, acknowledgement that he, too, recognized the name.

"Yeah."

Chris grabbed some strips of Nathan's bandaging cloth and, after giving Aaron a warning about taking his life into his own hands for a second time that day with any sudden moves, tied the man's wrists behind his back.

"Jed ain't talkin', so why don't you tell us what's goin' on here?"

"Well, I don't know. If Jed ain't talkin', don't know why I should."

"Mistah Meecham … if Ah may … what Mistah Larabee … is tryin' to … impress upon you … is that unless … one of you is … forthcomin' about … your actions … this day … any leniency … you might … feel entitled … to will … indubitably … slip … through … your … fingers." Ezra's legs had grown wobbly as the strain of standing for so long made itself known. "Vin … Nathan … "

"Hold on, now," Nathan encouraged as the weight increased on his side of the gambler.

"What'd he just say?" Meecham asked.

"Ezra!" Vin said urgently as the full weight of the well-built con man collapsed between the tracker and the healer. They caught him, but only just barely.

"Mah … apol … ogies … gen'l'men," Ezra said. "Ah … do … b'lieve … Ah … warned … you," he added as he allowed his two friends to take over and get him back to the bed. Talking through the pain, despite how much Ezra P. Standish liked to talk, had grown unappealing. Even speaking added to his discomfort.

"Maybe we're makin' 'im move too soon," Vin suggested. J.D. ran into the clinic as Nathan brought a cup of medicinal tea to his ailing friend.

"Buck's watchin' the other one at the jail." Nathan's eyes grew wide at the information; he had told the ladies' man to stay put through the next week. "You talk to him about it," J.D. said defensively, not wanting to get between the healer and the young man's still-healing best friend. He looked over at Ezra, who looked terrible. "Did he shoot Ezra? I didn't hear … "

"Ah am … fine, J.D.," Ezra said, making the effort to speak only to ease the young man's worry.

"You don't look it," the sheriff replied. "What happened?" Something had to have happened with Ezra looking so bad and breathing so roughly.

"Nothin'," Chris replied. "Take this one with you and stick with Buck until Josiah gets back from patrol."

"All right." J.D. grabbed Meecham. "Let's go," he said as he turned toward the door, his gun aimed at the man's back the entire time.

"I'll be down in a while," Chris said.

"We'll be there," J.D. answered as he left the room.

Chris looked stern as he glanced at the gambler. The man was pale, a little sweaty, and obviously breathing through his pain. He re-directed his attention as he now glared at Nathan and Vin.

"Vin, what did you mean, before J.D. came in?"

The tracker frowned as he thought back. "Nate and me were helpin' Ezra, gettin' 'im movin' … "

"Getting him moving?" Chris questioned. "Why?"

"Precisely," Ezra said quietly from the bed.

"I ain't talkin' to you," Chris growled. He looked to Nathan. "You're havin' him walk already?"

"Yeah, I'm havin' him walk," Nathan returned defensively. "It's not good for him. He needs to keep moving."

"This soon, after a serious injury? You're damned lucky we took his guns away. If it was me, I'd've shot you."

"A voice of reason," Ezra interjected.

"Go to sleep," his three friends yelled together. Chris added, "What happened to that silver tongue of yours? You couldn't convince them that this was a bad idea?"

"Aw would … " Ezra started. He moaned as he raised his hand to his head. He rubbed his forehead as he continued, "Ah would have, but … Ah fear mah … powers of puh'suasion … have vanished … along … with …." The southerner fell asleep in the middle of that thought.

Chris shook his head and returned his glare back on Nathan and Vin. Mostly Nathan. Quietly, so as not to awaken the healing member of his law enforcement team, he said as he pointed to the man in the bed, "He ain't like a regular patient, Nate. You don't need to push him. He don't want to stay in that bed any longer than necessary. Hell, the fact that he ain't slipped out and gone back to his room oughta tell ya that he's not healed enough for moving around."

"It's important that he move," the former slave said, trying to defend a position that he wasn't sure he even thought best any longer. "I don't have any way of knowing how much his vertebra got damaged. If he don't move, he might never move," Nathan explained, his voice rising.

"Outside," Chris ordered. Vin and Nathan shared a look. They both looked down at the sleeping gambler, and then followed their angry leader out the door. When the three of them made it outside, with the door closed, Chris rounded on the healer.

"You just said it, Nathan. You don't have any way of knowing." The former gunslinger was angry. He'd seen, first hand, in his youth, what moving too soon could do to a person after a bad back injury. Even if the chances were only fifty/fifty that keeping him in bed would help, he would insist on that course of action. He couldn't have what happened to his boyhood friend happen to Ezra.

"And neither do you," Nathan challenged.

"Chris … "

"Vin and me both have seen the bad results when a man is left too long. People think layin' around is healing, but it ain't always … "

"I don't want to hear any more." Chris' voice finally rose, as Nathan's had, but he remembered the sleeping man beyond the door. Softly, but with a venom his men knew better than to ignore, he said, "He gets a few more days." Nathan scowled. "Look, I'm not challenging your knowledge, Nathan. And I know you only have Ezra's best interests at heart. But there ain't no way either of you can say that him practically passing out is right." He looked from Nathan to Vin, and then back to Nathan. "He gets a few more days." At that declaration, he took one more glance at the clinic door and then strode purposefully down the staircase.

* * *

As Chris approached the jailhouse, he could hear Buck grumbling loudly outside on the boardwalk. The ladies' man's agitation was obvious, but his inability to pace with his broken leg was adding to his upset half again as much as might normally be the case.

"You want to keep it down, Buck?" Chris suggested. "There's women and children around," he reminded his longtime friend.

"Too late to worry about that, old pard," Buck answered as he sat in the chair, leg propped up and using a stick to scratch an itch on his casted leg. "'Sides, I kept it down when delicate ears passed by."

"They talk?" Chris asked, knowing the answer just by seeing Buck in this state.

"Oh, they talked. Stupid, idiotic, jackass, idiotic … "

"You said that already."

"Son-of-a- … "

"I get the picture," Chris said, cutting the ranting man off. "What's their story?"

"Damned stupid … "

"Just the facts, Buck," Chris pleaded. He wanted the story told, and fast, so he could go get some decent shut-eye. None of them had slept well since the accident. Well, except for maybe Buck.

The dark-haired gunman stood, started to pace, thought better of the idea and sat down right quick. "Those two," he said, pointing to the jailhouse door, "saw me and Ez at Nettie's. They saw how we were dressed … you know, I had that nice leather vest with the handsome stitching … "

"Buck!"

"Oh, yeah. Sorry. They figured we had money on us, so they listened to us conversin' as we fixed up the gate to the corral … "

"Can't hardly believe Ezra volunteered to do that," Chris interrupted with an amused grin.

"Happened to coincide with baking day. He'll volunteer for just about anything at Nettie's to satisfy that sweet tooth o' his," Buck said with a smile. Things had changed a lot in three years' time, most notably where the gambler was concerned. He had avoided the old lady after the Guy Royal incident, but times, tempers and the natural inclination of the southerner's genteel ways had gone a long way toward nurturing an unlikely friendship. "Anyway, they heard me talkin' about the tree and how I could show Ezra my athletic abilities and how it impresses the ladies." Chris rolled his eyes. "I ain't tryin' to impress you," Buck explained, knowing that Chris had heard this story a time or two … or three. "Those boys went on ahead and hacked at that limb, figuring that one or both of us would be knocked down and it'd make it easier to take our money. They didn't count on Hercules Standish and they sure didn't count on Nettie and Casey comin' by just as they tried to put the important part of their plan in motion." At the end of Buck's recitation of what the Meecham brothers had admitted to, J.D. stepped outside to join them.

"Buck told ya, I hear," he said jokingly.

"That he did," Chris said.

More seriously, J.D. asked, "What can we charge 'em with? Attempted murder is too severe," the youngest member of their law enforcement group suggested.

"Yeah, sounds like there was no real intent to hurt anyone, at least not as badly as Buck and Ezra got hurt," Chris agreed.

"Hey! We gotta charge 'em with somethin'," Buck insisted. "They may not have meant no harm, but they caused it."

"And they came back and aimed a gun at Ezra," J.D reminded them all.

Chris rubbed his forehead as he stepped away from the post he'd been leaning on. "I'll need to think about it. But I need somethin' to eat and I need some sleep." He looked through the window of the jail. He couldn't see inside, but he could imagine those brothers sitting in there, realizing the trouble they'd gotten themselves into. As he stepped into the street, Chris asked, "They say where they're from?"

J.D. replied. "Indiana."

"Indiana? Hell, Chris, that's where you're from," Buck said.

"Yeah." Chris took one more look at the jailhouse and then said, "See you boys later." He turned to Buck. "Calm down."

"Hell, I'm calmed down now. Just needed to get it off my chest."

"All right. J.D., you know where to find me."

"We'll be fine. Sleep well," the far-too-chipper sheriff called.

* * *

Josiah stepped into the clinic. The big man could be amazingly quiet, light footed even in a creaky building, but this time the preacher's footfall was not the reason the man in the bed hadn't stirred. Josiah stepped over to the patient and shook his head sadly. He and Nathan had spent the last while out on the balcony, discussing the card sharp's progress. The healer made the decision to ease up on the medicinal tea, needing to get a better handle on Ezra's pain. The gambler agreed with the decision; he was not a fan of the feeling that he had after taking it. Its extra strong nature had helped with pain, a little, but left him listless and feeling ill. Unfortunately, he was paying the price for that decision. Withdrawing the tea with the strong sedative and pain reliever had the man feeling sore and ill anyway. Josiah sat beside the bed and reached for the cloth that lay draped over the edge of a bowl of water. Nathan had stoked the fire higher before he left to ensure his patient not catch a chill on top of everything else he was dealing with. Ezra's resistance was down and he was susceptible to any germs that might be lingering about. To Josiah, it was obvious that Ezra was warm, too warm, and uncomfortable. He wet the cloth and turned to his friend. Tired green eyes greeted him.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Ezra," he said as he patted away the sweat from the former con man's face.

Ezra answered with a softly sighed, "You did not."

"How're you feeling?" the man the town had adopted as their preacher asked, understanding that it was the pain that woke his friend.

Ezra closed his eyes tiredly. He appeared to Josiah to be taking an inventory of his body and his mind. When finally he opened his eyes again, Ezra replied, "Ah …. " He apparently thought better of his planned reply and added a simple, "Fine."

"Well, you're not fine, son. Nathan says he's gonna give you a few more days. If you aren't feeling better by then, he's gonna have his friend Dr. Milton come down from Denver to take a look at you."

"Ah wonder how our … in … intrepid tracker … " Ezra started, but needed to stop to bear a sudden spasm of pain. He began again, "How does Vin live with his back pain? Ah presently … cannot imagine how Ah could sit a seat … at the poker table."

Josiah rinsed the rag once more and worked it down Ezra's neck and chest. "You got hurt pretty bad, Ezra. Takes time to heal."

"Ah know. But Ah feel Ah should … arise from this sickbed. Ah fear Ah am keepin' you … fine gentlemen from far more … important undertakings."

"Ya ain't, so get that outta your head," Josiah assured him. "Nathan's bringing us back some breakfast."

"Ah am not hungry." Ezra closed his eyes and appeared decidedly nauseous at the thought of food.

"You need to eat. Besides, I think you'll like what he brings back." The gambler opened one eye; Josiah could see that he'd piqued his friend's curiosity, and hopefully even his appetite, at the suggestion.

"We'll see," the healing man said as he looked toward the door. Josiah could not miss the longing in the expressive eyes. It was the rest of his body, though, that betrayed his desire to slip out of the clinic like he'd done so many times before.

"Why don't you rest some? I know you didn't sleep so good last night. I'll wake you when Nate gets back." The soothing tone of Josiah's voice, the cool cloth relieving his heated brow, and his own exhaustion had Ezra asleep in minutes.

The con man slept for nearly an hour. This time, upon waking, the aromas wafting around the room pulled him from his slumber quickly. Someone had found his stash of imported coffee beans which, for at least this one time, he would forgive, the thief most likely Vin who, it seemed, more than the rest of his brethren, had taken a real hankering to the dark roasted beans. It was rather funny, considering the sludge the outdoorsman was normally so willing to drink – and offer to others – out on the trail. But overwhelming even the tantalizing scent of his special coffee was Gloria Potter's scones, specifically her cheddar-dill scones. Though Ezra had come to appreciate all of the delectable baked goods from the widow's kitchen, even that awful textured concoction: pumpkin pie. Then again, anything could be made to taste better with the correct addition of cinnamon and nutmeg, even Gloria had agreed to that, and added the southerner's suggested amount whenever she made the dessert now. But it was the woman's scones that had Ezra up early; he'd become a regular at her doorstep first thing every Friday and Saturday morning. His partners in protecting the town had laughed heartily when they learned the reason they would see Ezra waltzing the boulevard before noon on those particular days. His presence on the streets of Four Corners so early in the morning had precipitated a change to the patrol schedule, one of the many things Ezra and Chris now agreed upon. It hadn't always been that easy to find much that the two ever agreed on in the early days.

"He's awake," Vin said with a smile, his eyes sparking with humor.

"Ah admit to bein' surprised at the wonderful aromas. Ah also confess that Ah have no concept of what day it is," the con man said, though unless he had been really out of it, he hadn't made it to Friday yet.

"It ain't Friday or Saturday," Josiah said, reading the confusion on Ezra's visage. The big man reached for one of the scones, breaking it in half and tossing one half into his mouth. He closed his eyes and 'mmm'd' his way over to the coffee pot.

"Gloria made 'em special for ya," Vin said as he, too, took one of the savory treats.

"Please be sure to thank the lovely lady for me when next you see her," Ezra said. He tried to raise himself to a sitting position, anxious to get to one of the tasty treats before they were all gone. He couldn't manage it, and hissed at the added pain.

"Wait. I'll help you," Nathan said as he popped the last bite of his scone into his mouth.

"Ah thought it best to retrieve one of Mrs. Potter's delectations before you gentlemen made as though they never existed". The healer and the preacher both smiled ruefully, and then were remarkably gentle as they used their considerable combined strength to move Ezra into a sitting position, Vin helping as he piled the pillows up against the headboard behind the gambler. Ezra's one grunt early-on told the others in the room that the healing lawman had tolerated the pain better, though as they stood back they could see the hint of moisture on Ezra's upper lip.

"How's that?" Nathan asked.

"Fine," the southern gentleman responded.

"Ezra … " Vin started. His tone told Ezra that the lie would not be tolerated.

"Bettah. Ah am bettah," he re-phrased for his friends.

"You ready for some coffee and a scone?"

Ezra nodded his assent and happily bit into the pastry that Josiah handed him. He chewed slowly, savoring the sharp, nutty flavor of the cheese, the spark of freshness added by the dill. The former con man closed his eyes. He took his next flaky, buttery bite, wondering how any man could choose steak and a potato over the assorted delicious wonders that came from Gloria Potter and Nettie Wells' kitchens. He finished Gloria's fine breakfast treat, and then yawned widely. The gambler still had a ways to go, but all of his friends present, and those not, were happy that Ezra seemed content to let the healing run its course, and to sleep when his body told him he needed to.

Josiah poured a cup of coffee and started to bring it to the man ensconced in the clinic's one decent bed. Nathan caught his arm, and then nodded to the patient. Ezra had fallen asleep sitting up.

"Should we leave 'im like that?" Vin asked in a hushed manner so as not to wake him.

"We'll let him stay like that until he wakes up," Nathan suggested. "I 'spect that'll be in an hour or so. I didn't get any tea into him; the pain will wake him," he added sadly, a look of guilt coming over his face.

"You shouldn't feel guilty, Nathan," Josiah said. "You were only doing what you thought best."

"I know. But I was wrong. He needed more time to recover. I should've known … "

"He ain't gonna blame ya. You listened. He's feelin' better. It's done," Vin said plainly.

"I still need to talk to him about it."

"He'll listen," Josiah said knowingly. It had surprised all of them to learn, over these last few years, that as much as Ezra liked to talk, he was also a remarkably good listener. Nathan hoped that after the mess he'd made of things this time, that this special talent of Ezra's would still hold true.

* * *

"Maybe we should ask Ezra what he thinks. He was the one who got hurt the most," J.D. suggested.

"Ask me what?" Ezra asked as the clinic door was opened, startling the men on Nathan's deck. The healer helped the gambler across the threshold as Vin stood up from the rocking chair, anticipating that Nathan would direct Ezra into the seat. The sun shone brilliantly on this chilly winter morning – late morning - providing plenty of warmth to allow even the healing man to spend some time outside this day. Once Ezra was seated, Josiah placed a heated blanket across the card sharp's legs; the normally flashy dresser's clothes were covered on top by a serape, one that Nathan kept clean and handy for whenever one of his fellow lawmen took ill or was injured. Despite the chill in the air, one of the things Nathan had learned about Ezra Standish early-on was to get the ornery southerner out into the fresh air and sunshine as soon as possible during his recovery.

"How ya feelin', Ezra?" Chris asked.

"Bettah every day," the professional poker player replied. Though it was no lie, Nathan would tell their fellow lawmen the full truth later, once Ezra had eaten and downed some more of the healer's medicinal tea. That truth was that it would probably be many weeks, maybe a couple of months, before Ezra was healed enough to get back on patrol. There would likely need to be adjustments made for what Nathan feared would be chronic but hopefully only occasional back pain. How often and how severe that pain would be was a story yet to be written.

"Good."

"Now, Mistah Dunne, you sought mah council on something of import?" Ezra asked. J.D. looked back at him with a wrinkled brow. "You wanted mah opinion about something?" the sharp-tongued con man re-phrased.

"Still tryin' ta figure out what to charge them Meecham boys with," Vin answered for the young sheriff.

"Would that not more appropriately be a question for the honorable Judge Travis?" Ezra asked as he sat in the rocking chair, his eyes closed, enjoying the late January sun. The warmth of the sun and the comfort sitting in the chair provided could almost convince him that he was fully healed. But that illusion lasted only until he moved some part of his body.

"The judge can't get back here for more than a month," Chris explained.

"Apparently the territory has had its share of violent acts lately. Jail cells are loaded," Buck said.

"Is the judge suggesting that we simply let these miscreants go free?" Ezra asked. "And Mistah Tanner," he added as he opened his eyes and looked at the tracker, "might Ah submit that we refrain from calling these … gentlemen … 'boys'? Their decisions and actions were those of adults, not children."

"Ezra, I don't think Vin meant … " J.D. started in Vin's defense.

"No, he's right, J.D.," the former bounty hunter admitted. "Sorry Ez," Vin added as he looked away. They had discussed this very topic before, how people tended to consider young men children when they were well beyond the point of acting as such. The fact was that growing up in the west meant growing up far sooner than any mother would ever wish for her child. But once childish acts were left behind, it was time to look upon these adult acts as those performed by adults, even if the person doing the deed was a young adult.

"It is fine," Ezra said. He closed his eyes again, the pinched look to them, the stiff bearing he retained in the comfortable chair telltale signs of his pain. Chris and Vin exchanged a glance. Silently, they made a joint decision.

"The judge said we don't have to have a trial just to give them a punishment," Chris said.

Ezra opened his eyes. "Ah believe that would only be so if the accused agreed, a plea bargain, if you will."

"Right," the tall blond agreed.

"Do you have a bargain in mind?" Nathan asked. All but one of the seven peacekeepers was present. Josiah was on patrol and would be the one of them most inclined to assure that the men had a fair judgment and punishment for their actions. The others cared about fairness, but Josiah would be looking to guarantee that the men also truly recognized the error of their ways.

"Vin had an idea." They all looked to the quiet Texan.

"I figure they don't want to go to jail. And they did finally tell us the truth of what happened. Maybe we can get 'em to do some work around here, help clean up around the livery and the exchange." These were two areas of town that tended to collect trash and other things that should get removed more frequently. The area behind the exchange had begun to accumulate a large pile of items that would start to draw undesirable wildlife if something wasn't done about it soon. "They could unload the supply and delivery wagon that's due tomorrow, maybe give 'siah a couple o' days labor over to the church."

"Mistah Sanchez would be impressed, and grateful," Ezra commented. "And you believe that this penalty is proper and just punishment for the ills inflicted upon Buck and mahself?"

"No. It ain't," Chris said. "But they ain't wanted for nothin'," he added. Though the last name had sounded familiar, a scan of wanted posters and some research through Mary Travis' newspaper determined that there was a family of Meechams wanted for a series of thefts in Denver, but that these men were simply unlucky enough to share the same last name, but not the same blood. "Josiah and I both think they really are sorry for what they did."

"Even though they came after us after the initial misdeed?" Ezra challenged.

"Ezra, if you disagree, we'll come up with something else," Chris said.

"And this … sentence has nothing to do with these men hailing from your home state?" Ezra asked as he looked Chris in the eye.

"How did you … " Chris started to ask.

"It is mah back that is broken, not mah hearing or mah ability to ask questions." Ezra being Ezra, he did not give away who he had pried that detail from, but it wasn't hard to figure out once J.D. lowered his head. Buck placed his hand on J.D.'s neck and rubbed it affectionately, letting him know that no harm had been done by divulging that information.

"They're drifters. Coming from Indiana doesn't mean anything, except … "

"Except you see yourself in them," Buck finished. Chris gave a faint nod of assent as now he was the one looking down. When he looked back up, he found Ezra's eyes closed once more.

"You know," J.D. said, "maybe if those two do good work someone'll hire them. Then they wouldn't need to try to steal from people anymore."

Ezra looked up at his young friend. "That is a somewhat naïve notion, J.D., but not an impossibility," he said. Ezra rubbed his eyes, a movement that did not go unnoticed by any of his friends. And then he trembled, whether from cold, or the thought of the Meecham brothers making Four Corners their home, or the thought of not recovering from this injury nobody knew.

"I'm gonna get you a cup of tea, Ezra," Nathan said. "And then you're going back to bed."

"As you wish," the gambler agreed.

Fifteen minutes later, a well-dosed Ezra Standish was asleep, and his five friends were gathered outside the clinic.

"He doesn't look so great," Buck noted. The ladies' man had been healing slowly as well, but that had more to do with him moving around more that he should have been. All of his friends wondered why he wouldn't just stay put in his room and let his ladies take care of him. It seemed that the sociable man needed his friends around him as much as he needed the ladies.

"He's fightin' some awful pain, Buck. Takes a lot out of a man," Nathan explained.

"Is he going to be all right?" J.D. asked.

"He'll heal … some. But not likely how he wants. Just have to wait and see."

"What about surgery?" Chris asked.

"Probably not. He ain't showin' signs that he'll be debilitated to the point where that kind of risky surgery is worth it."

"So we don't have any choice. We just gotta wait and see?" Buck asked, disgruntled at the thought.

"Whatever it takes," Chris said as he headed to the stairs. "I'm gettin' some grub and then I'll be takin' over for Josiah," he called back.

"How do you think Ezra's going to handle this whole wait and see thing?" J.D. asked.

"Kid, there ain't no tellin'. Guess that we'll just have to wait and see," Buck replied, repeating the unsatisfactory response from earlier. He knocked the bowler hat from his 'kid' brother's head, knowing that the young man could use a distraction as much as the handsome mustachioed man could.

* * *

The sleeping southerner was awakened by gunfire. His body jerked involuntarily in bed, which caused pain up and down his body. The same thing had happened more than once during his recovery. It was disconcerting to the gambler that he might awaken to pain for the remainder of his life. "Shit," he said as he forced himself into a sitting position. He took a long breath as he waited a moment, hoping for the pain to ease. More gunfire had him on his feet, his Remington in hand as he went to the window.

"Aw, hell," he said as he heard what was certainly his fellow lawmen firing towards the undertaker's office. The men who were firing back seemed to care not that their bullets could hit women or children or other innocents; that Gloria Potter's mercantile was beside the jail on the south, the restaurant to the north. He could hear but he could not see that Chris and the others were refraining from firing as much as possible, knowing that this time of day, nearing the noontime hour, was a busy time of day for their bustling, growing town.

Ezra looked across the boulevard and saw Vin on the roof of the hotel. He was somewhat certain Josiah would be up on a roof as well, and not on patrol, though to be fair, he wasn't completely sure he hadn't slept through more than just one day. He seemed tired all the time lately, and though Nathan said that was normal, it didn't stop the gambler from being completely put out by the feeling. He wiped the tiredness from his eyes and looked down, grateful that he had already been up earlier to at least put on a pair of pants and an oversized, soft cotton shirt. He slipped his boots on and headed out, knowing that if he made it down Nathan's stairs in one piece he'd have the element of surprise on his side as he headed across the street to help.

Ezra stepped outside and waved a small white bandage toward Vin. He caught the tracker's attention and cocked his head down and toward the back of the undertaker's building. Vin shook his head no, and pointed him behind and north. Though Ezra thought this odd, he nodded in agreement, deciding on his direction, north along the back of Virginia's Hotel, the bank and the mercantile to the jail on the left, telling his comrade what he needed to know. He hoped the former preacher didn't see him, because Josiah's first inclination would be to corral the card sharp and haul him back to his sickbed. Even if Josiah did it most gently, Ezra had no doubt that he'd pass out from the pain; he was only just managing to deal with the constant aches without Nathan and Josiah forever touching him exactly where he hurt most.

The stairs were slow going, as were his first steps upon getting to ground level as he took the time to assure every person that he passed that all would be fine if they would just head inside and remain under cover. All of those assurances and concern for the citizenry of Four Corners took more of his precious time than he would have liked. Finally, he made his way to the alley between the livery and the grain exchange, and then toward the back of the sheriff's office. Next, he scooted into the alley between the bank and the mercantile. He could see two men loitering near the jail. These men were not participating in any shooting and thus, Ezra was able to ascertain from the sound of the gunfire that only two men were out front firing their weapons. He stepped out of the alley. As soon as the men looked his way, they would know that he didn't belong there. This area behind the buildings on the west side of the street was just beginning to be developed. Two buildings were barely started, and piles of construction materials were all else to be seen. Ezra rushed his steps to get a little closer before they spotted him. He hoped he caught up to them before his exhaustion caught up with himself.

"Gentlemen," he said loudly, though with his efforts so far he found himself woefully out of breath. The two did just as Ezra had expected, turned their guns on him, and fired in his general direction. They only found wood and dirt with their less than stellar skills with their weapons. Ezra shot each man in their shooting arms. Both men dropped their guns at the shocking pain, and then reached for their lost guns with their uninjured hands. "Ah would not do that," Ezra warned dryly as he heard Vin's mare's leg engage behind him, the tracker's aim perfection as he fired behind the con man, hitting the weapons where they lay, launching them into the wall of the jail, sending splinters in the direction of the shooters. The two men put their hands up. "If you would, please place yourselves face down on the ground until the rest of mah compatriots finish with your accomplices out front." The two men complied, and Ezra sagged to the ground, feeling Vin's hand grab his arm and ease his descent.

"Gotcha, Ez."

"Your timing, Mistah Tanner … "

"What the hell you doin', Ezra!" Nathan yelled. It was at that moment that Ezra and Vin both realized that the shooting had ceased on the main street.

"Nathan, take it easy," Vin said as he made sure Ezra was sitting as comfortably as possible on the dusty ground. The Texan could tell that Nathan was fighting feelings of anger and worry in equal parts. For Ezra's part, he felt no need to respond to anything at the moment, but Vin did. "Thanks, pard." He could tell from the heaviness of the body beside him that the gambler was fading fast. Vin sat beside Ezra until the healer was down on the ground with them, and then he rose to get the two men who Ezra had caught into the jail.

The gambler nodded in slow response to the tracker. He held a slight smile for a job well done, but his face paled dramatically as Nathan turned him and started to place him prostrate on the ground. "Nathan," the card sharp warned, pleading to be handled carefully.

"I know," the healer said as he took as gentle care of Ezra as he could. The con man was flat on the ground when the others arrived.

"Good job, Ezra," Chris said as he and Josiah showed up. Ezra still didn't have it in him to reply. "J.D.'s got one of the other's over at the jail. Buck is workin' with the undertaker on the other one." Ezra looked at the tall blond but didn't answer. "I'll come to see you at Nathan's once we get this all settled." That comment drew a moan from the gambler.

"You can moan all you like, Ezra. When you do fool things like this, it's going to set you back some," Nathan admonished.

"Go easy on him, Nate," Josiah said. Everyone looked at the preacher, shocked at what he said. The big man had the decency to look chagrined, knowing that he had plenty of times given the southerner the same rough verbal handling as Nathan now did.

"He did just come out of the blue," Chris said. "Out of a sickbed."

"Yep, he sure did," Vin agreed as he returned from his task. "Watchin' our backs."

"We're gonna get ya on your feet," Nathan said. After a moment where Ezra thought he might have blacked out for a few seconds, the healing man found himself standing, with the strong assistance of the healer and the preacher.

"Much obl … " Ezra started, but didn't finish.

"Shut up, Ezra," Nathan and Josiah said at the same time.

Ezra'a silence spoke volumes regarding how much of a good idea he felt the suggestion was. The look he gave his friends said even more about the decided lack of politeness in its offering.

* * *

_Two months later_

"There's a lot to be said for the power of positive thinking," Josiah said as he watched from the steps at the back of the church, sipping his coffee.

"Gonna hurt his damn self," Nathan grumbled.

"Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," Vin said, enjoying a long draw from his coffee mug as well.

"He seems to be doing all right," J.D. said with a smile on his face.

"Wish I could get this damned cast off," Buck growled. He grew more frustrated by the day as he watched Ezra's recovery. He was happy for the man, for them all; it was good to see the gambler feeling so good, moving so well.

"Patience is a virtue, Buck," Chris said.

"Where were you with that fine advice when I was tryin' to get away from Miss Melody's boyfriend?" the town Lothario asked. He'd been skipping away from the lady's abode, carrying both crutches under one arm, when the wooden sticks caught on a railing and pulled him down hard, cracking the cast and causing added damage to his leg. His new cast would be with him for another couple of weeks.

"I don't think I was the only one who told you not to run around town. If you're gonna see ladies who are already taken, you'd do better to do it somewhere that you won't be found."

"Or somewhere so you don't have to run on a broken leg," J.D. said with a laugh.

"It ain't funny you two."

Nobody's smile that day was bigger than Chris Larabee's and it wasn't because of another story of Buck and his wandering ways. He smiled as he watched Ezra. He had always admired the southerner's way with kids, and the way he had trained that horse of his. Watching as Ezra entertained the children with some of Chaucer's more impressive stunts? Well, it was something to see. The gambler had seemed stressed during his recuperation until that day when the men who had injured him so terribly finally finished their penance and left town. That was a good day for them all.

"That's a new one," Josiah said.

"Dumb dog ain't got no more sense than Ezra or that horse o' his," Buck whined.

"Ain't no wonder why the ladies are steerin' clear of you these days, Buck," J.D. said as he smiled at the antics of man, beast, and man's best friend.

"They ain't steerin' clear, kid. I got plenty o' women," the ladies' man replied. "Just ain't feelin' up to much with this damn leg. Nathan … " he said, readying to ask again when he'd be free of the cumbersome leg covering.

"Another few weeks," Nathan, Josiah, Chris and J.D. said all at once. Vin, unable to control his mirth, snorted coffee out his nose.

"Ah hell!" Buck replied.

Vin sat back, enjoying his coffee, what was left of it, his chair leaned on the back two legs, his legs crossed and resting on the railing at the top step of the back entrance of the church. The area behind the church was still wide open space, though it, too, was under threat of development. For now it acted as the stage for one Ezra Standish and his show.

"When do ya suppose they worked up this routine?" Vin asked.

"Don't know. He's only been out of the clinic for about two weeks," Chris answered, not taking his eyes off Ezra as he rode Chaucer, the horse performing a high-step reminiscent of what he'd seen horses do on parade. The orange and white hound dog Fred sat on Chaucer's rump, behind the gambler, balancing perfectly to the horse's uneven, exaggerated gait, his ears flopping up and down to the rhythm of the prancing.

"Maybe he was workin' on it before he got hurt," Nathan suggested. It really was a sight to see.

"Doubt it. He was pretty busy before all this happened," Vin countered.

"And sick," Josiah said. They all nodded, remembering the rough time the former con man had gone through. They'd sent him away to spend some time with Maude, knowing that he'd missed her, knowing that he would never admit to it, knowing that a neutral location would work best in nurturing the mother-son relationship. Maude Standish had lost him forever as a partner in her cons; it afforded mother and son a chance to really get to know one another in a way neither had ever had the opportunity, or in Maude's case, a reason, to do before. That aspect of her character was something Ezra's friends still frowned on. But love was love, and these men refused to deny the only one among them whose mother was still living the opportunity to make their relationship what it should always have been.

None of them could remember the last time Ezra had spent any significant time with the dog and his horse, certainly not the time it would take Chaucer to accept Fred taking a ride on his rump, or getting the dog to run through Chaucer's legs, and not getting kicked in the head good and hard … and even on purpose.

"He's still in pain," Nathan said.

"He ain't gonna show it," Vin added knowingly.

"Sounds like someone else I know," Chris said under his breath just as he took a large swallow of his coffee.

Vin cocked his head and then grinned, crows' feet showing clearly at his eyes, accepting that Chris and the others knew about his own back trouble. He knew exactly what Ezra was dealing with. He knew what it meant, how much hiding a hurt was as important a tactic of self-preservation here in the Wild West as knowing how to use a gun was.

"Seen men give in to pain, usually does 'em in," Vin said as though he knew exactly what he was speaking about. "Ain't likely Ezra's one of those men," he added with equal conviction.

They all sat there: Chris and Buck, Josiah and Nathan and J.D. They nodded in silent admiration, at the words Vin spoke, at the lives Vin and Ezra lead, strong men, owning their pain. Chris reached out and rubbed Vin's back. And Vin smiled at the comforting touch of a friend, and he nodded, sharing in his friends' admiration of the man before them, taking center stage again. As it should be.

The End.


End file.
